


Hang the Moon

by turps



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-03
Updated: 2011-06-03
Packaged: 2017-10-20 01:57:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/207565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/turps/pseuds/turps
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A story where MCR are mer people and Gerard faces an impossible choice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hang the Moon

**Author's Note:**

> Written for picfor1000 on livejournal. My prompt was:
> 
> [   
> ](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v240/turps332/?action=view&current=187232931_2106c3ff56.jpg)
> 
> Thank you to ephemera, nopseud, msktrnanny and crowgirl13 for checking it over.

Mikey lies back and stretches out his arms, moving his hands and tail-fluke in small lazy circles, just enough that he can float in place and stare up at the moon. It’s one of his favourite positions, the waves tickling as they lap against his chest, and if he looks to the side he can see his hair trail through the water like wavering fronds of seaweed. It’s peaceful, calm; at least it would be if it wasn’t for Gerard.

“I’m going to make it tonight,” Gerard says

“Yeah,” Mikey agrees.

The problem is, Gerard doesn’t really approve of the whole ‘lure people to their death with your singing’ thing. He does it: he kinda has to being as that’s what the Mer people are about. The simple truth is, Gerard’s good at it -- unlike Frank whose singing is more a snarl of rage than melody or Bob, whose voice makes the waves foam and surge, or Ray, who’s a good singer but prefers to stay submerged, hating the feel of wet hair.

Mikey’s singing is okay. Just okay. But that’s fine; Gerard makes enough noise for them both.

The point is, Gerard's the best singer by far, but that's as much a curse as a blessing. Every time he sings, his skin cast silver by the full moon, hair and eyes dark, his voice perfection, every time bewitched humans leap forward, jumping towards that which they crave, his sorrow is as evident as his talent.

The splash of the humans hitting the water is swallowed by the regular crash of the waves, and they sink, going under with their faces raised, their hands reaching for both Gerard and for air. Mikey doesn't know, even now, which one they want the most. Every time, Gerard watches them drown, stricken and guilty.

It’s why Gerard spends a lot of time hiding in the caves at the ocean floor. The elders don’t go that deep – it’s too dark and too cold and the sand is always churned up by the creatures that slink along the bottom. Except he has to come up sometimes, when the moon calls and light shimmers over the ocean and the call to sing is too strong.

The Mer people gather together and lure in the unwary. They compete for each boat, singing louder, beckoning, beautiful in face and song. It’s only when you look closer you see the truth, flickers of sharp teeth and nails, a darkness where there should be light.

The humans never really look. Sometimes Mikey envies them that.

The moon is shining tonight, but Mikey and Gerard aren’t singing. They’ve left the main group and have swum close to the shore, to the place where the lighthouse stands tall, projecting brilliant light that slices through the dark. Most of the Mer people keep away, detection too obvious a risk, but Gerard comes here often, and Mikey always follows.

It’s near enough to land that the crash of waves against sand is a constant sound. Gulls call loudly from overhead and the scent of the ocean is merged with that of the shore. Gerard is motionless in the water; watching the land that’s always so still, so steady and secure unlike the water that surrounds them. Occasionally his tail flashes into view, emerald scales gleaming before being submerged once more. He’s breathing hard, psyching himself up, and Mikey twists so he can rub the edge of his tail against Gerard’s arm.

Gerard smiles and runs his fingers lightly over Mikey’s scales, says desperately. “It’ll be better there, it has to be.” There’s a strand of hair plastered against Mikey’s cheek, and Gerard pushes it back, tucking it behind Mikey’s ear. “I’ll have legs and live on the beach.”

“I’ll wave at you,” Mikey says.

“And I’ll wave back.” Gerard looks over Mikey’s shoulder, at the boats that bob in the distance. “No more deaths.”

Sometimes Mikey wonders how Gerard swims at all, when the weight of guilt hangs so heavy, but he hasn’t sunk yet, despite coming close. Mikey smiles then, the slightest curl of his lips and then arcs back, diving down. He splashes as he does so, grace lacking in both water and air. Submerged he opens his eyes, wiggles his fingers at a seahorse before surfacing next to Gerard, still pressing close.

Gerard slips his arm around Mikey’s shoulders and holds him securily, a solid presence in the currents and constantly shifting motion of the sea. Mikey wants to turn and hold onto him forever, but he doesn’t. He can’t. Not when Gerard needs to go.

“I should go,” Gerard says then, and his mouth is cold against Mikey’s. “Watch me?”

“Always,” Mikey says.

Gerard darts forward then, thrashing his tail furiously until he hits land. Waves break over his body as he pulls himself onto the sand and he crawls forward, the muscles in his back flexing, his hair trailing in wet strands.

Gerard keeps going, hands clawed and panting for air. Mikey can hardly breathe as he sees the green of Gerard’s tail begin to fade, the lines of his tail-fluke blur, exposing bones and scale-free skin, toes digging into wet sand as he collapses forward, caught between sea and land.

Which is when Gerard looks back, eyes wide and panicked and Mikey knows he has to urge him on. “Go, Gerard. Go!” he yells. Mikey doesn’t think Gerard notices the initial hesitation at all.

Except, Gerard rolls then. He flops inelegantly on his back and pushes himself back into the surf, the wash of water bringing back the colours of his tail, making it solid once more as he swims, defeat obvious in the set of his mouth, the way he’s moving so slow.

“Gee?” Mikey says, swimming forward and meeting Gerard half way. “Gerard?”

Gerard cups his hand against Mikey’s cheek, says yet again. “I’ll go tomorrow.”

They start for home; Mikey knowing one day Gerard won’t look back, and that’s the day he’ll break Mikey’s heart.


End file.
